


The Circle

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragon Tendencies, Dragonborn Reader, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Polyamory, Skyrim Companions, allusions to the other questlines, hell yes, i'm weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Dragonborn is love struck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Circle

The Greybeards explained a great many things about being the Dragonborn, but they never mentioned the weird ass compulsions. The hoarding is bad enough! Why do you have to deal with all this other nonsense?

It started with little things after the dragon in Whiterun, and escalated as weeks went by. You're fairly certain getting more dragon souls made it even worse, but goodness knows you can't let people die just because it makes you... Weird.

At first it was fine, you could just brush it off as good ole frugality and the fact you went a few weeks not knowing when your next meal would be. You'd cringe when you were forced to pay for something, but it was _okay_.

What was decidedly not okay were the tears in your eyes as you handed over the money to buy and furnish your new home. Proventus, thankfully, seemed to think you're just very happy to finally have a home of your own, not that you're going into full dragon-mode. It _hurts_. It causes you horrible, visceral pain in your chest to hand over so much of your gold.

Then, upon Lydia and yourself moving into said house, you find yourself unable to sell any of the many pelts you've collected over your journey. You leave them all over the house, _just in case_ you want to crash in a pile of fur. Lydia doesn't seem to mind at least, and sometimes when you wake up she'll have moved you to your bed. She's very sweet (she even smells sweet. Like apple pie or whatever the Skyrim equivalent is and something citrusy, bright and beautiful).

That's another dragon thing. The smells. You find yourself wanting to sniff people when they come near, and hugs are _torturous_. You can't help it, and its fuckin _weird_. So far the only people you think could sort of understand the smell thing are the companions, and you're infinitely thankful for this.

Farkas laughed when you impulsively nuzzle him after he was first attacked by those bandits, asking if _you're_ okay.

You instantly fall back, your face unbearably hot, "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I just-- being Dragonborn is weird, and I was so worried. Just-- scent." You can't come up with a better way to describe it. Its more like color, which is something you've never experienced before. You've started automatically associating certain smells with different colors, with no apparent patterns.

You need to reassure yourself he's okay, he's here and alive, and he's covered in your color, dammit, so they better back off.

Some more reasonable part of you says that being so possessive of your friends is weird and borderline invasive but you're too hopped up on adrenaline to pay attention to that.

"You're telling me." He responds, not unkindly. "You have dragon tendencies?"

"And you are a werewolf." You poke his breastplate to make a point. "Ya learn something new everyday. Is that... A companion thing? Like am I...?"

"No worries, dragonborn. Only the Circle have beastblood. Prove your honor to the companions. "Eyes on the pray, not the horizon." We should keep moving, still have the draugr to worry about."

"You think there's more whatever those guys were?" You make a vague motion over your shoulder, to where the would be ambushers lie dead.

"They're silver hands, and probably. Nothin we can't handle." Farkas gives you a rare smile (and you wonder how many people you're allowed to be in love with at one time because everyone here is so _great_ ), nodding for you to lead the way.

You make it to the end without anymore weird dragon things, able to content that side of yourself by healing him. You do, however, allow yourself a victory hug when you get the Fragment and make it through the subsequent army of draugr. You're still trembling from the fight as you snake your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against the blood covered armor heedlessly. He's good, you're good, everything is fine.

(Later, you'll rationalize that dragons, while usually solitary, are viciously protective of what they view as theirs, including people, and that this is totally a normal, platonic reaction to have)

Farkas hugs you back begrudgingly, tucking you under his chin, "Don't get ahead of yourself, new blood."

You hum in return, "I'm sure you can come up with a better nickname than that."

"I'm not the witty brother. You'll have to give me a few days." He deadpans, and if not for the smile gracing his lips, you'd have assumed he's serious.

"Farkas!" You snort, pulling away. "Be nice to yourself."

He simply shrugs, "We going?"

You roll your eyes. "Yeah. I've gotta get this blood off me." You shudder dramatically. Dried blood is a pain to scrub off after all. At least the draugr have the decency not to bleed.

Farkas is kind enough to stay with you on the walk back, and while some very small and horribly romantic part of you wants to reach out and grab his hand, you feel that would be Too Much, Too Soon. And rather inconvenient in the case of a fight. Seconds are life or death in fights.

Thankfully you make it back to Whiterun easily enough, and the next time beast like tendencies are thrown on the table, they're surprisingly not your own.

It had been weeks since you had returned to Jorrvaskr, mostly because you got in a bit of trouble on the way back from your last contract. It figures you could make it all the way to Windhelm and back before some dragon decides to show up.

You stumbled into the Sanctuary with a bite mark easily six inches across on your arm, but the dragon was dead and that's all you really care for as Dragonborn. Arnbjorn was the one to patch you up, rather begrudgingly, as you rambled on about how much dragons suck.

You didn't really realize that meant there's werewolf scent covering you until Vilkas has you pressed against the wall of the living quarters, teeth grinding together as he takes in your wrapped arm. "Who did this?" He asks haltingly.

Considering the circumstances, you shouldn't be blushing. But damn does he make it hard not to. "A dragon." You squeak.

His eyes narrow. "Dragons don't smell like this."

 _Oh._ Your mouth forms the word but you can't find your voice for a moment. "No, the-- Arnbjorn dressed my wound; that's why I smell like wolf. Did you know Arnbjorn? He used to be a companion."

Vilkas seems... Placated to know that you weren't bitten by a werewolf, but still angry in general. "I've heard of him." He says, leaning down to rub his cheek against yours.

Ever since the werewolf thing came out into the open the Circle has been much more welcoming. You still don't really chat with Kodlak or Skjor, but you don't think they're the chatty type anyway. Vilkas has been nicer too, but most of your time together is spent training. Hunting with your fellow Shield siblings, on the other hand, is an entirely different situation.

"I've heard he was brutal, too in tune with his beast for even Skjor." Vilkas continues, one hand moving to cradle your injury.

"Rather helpful in a dragon attack though." You respond lightly.

Vilkas makes a noise in the back of his throat that could've been a snort or a growl. You're not quite sure. "Come on. Aela might have a potion for you, and if not I can redress that."

"Of course." You nod, following him into their room. Farkas is reading when you arrive, his brows pinched together adorably. You greet him when you enter, smiling cheerfully.

He is much less cheerful when he sees the injury, and even more so when Vilkas peals away the bindings to reveal a very clear bite. You got off easy compared to what dragons can and will actually do, but it was on its last legs when it bit. An act of desperation if you've ever seen it.

"Dragon outside of Falkreath." You explain tersely.

He makes a face, moving over to sniff at you. "And the wolf?"

You lean into him, humming contentedly. "A... Friend, you could say. Patched me up after the fight. I didn't have enough magic to heal it and now its all gross." Injuries are much harder to heal after your body has already started the process, and you're not exactly a professional.

Vilkas snorts in amusement when his brother throws an arm around your waist, pulling you until you're practically in his lap, his face buried in your neck. If it were any one but Farkas, you'd say the motion was possessive, but it feels affectionate.

"Are you going to let me fix the arm then, brother?" Vilkas asks.

"I thought you were going to ask Aela for a potion?" You say distractedly. You can feel his eyes roll, although you don't look up to see it. Instead you simply shift closer to his brother, all pretenses dropping. The dragon in you in making a low rumbling noise, pleased beyond belief by this development.

"Aela!" Vilkas yells.

There's a shout in return, although you can't quite make out the words. She storms in not a minute later, asking, "Do you need something, brother?"

"A health potion if you have it," Vilkas makes a vague motion to yourself, and you hold up your injured arm. Farkas grumbles at the reminder. "And, could you see if Kodlak and Skjor are free?"

You huff, already aware of how this is going to play out. You'll have to skirt around the truth quite a lot if you want to keep your ties with the Brotherhood on the down low and protect Arnbjorn. Or, perhaps protect the companions from the Brotherhood. You can't imagine Astrid would take very kindly to them hunting her husband.

Aela makes some rude comment (not about your cuddling, thankfully) before going to grab the potion, her voice ringing throughout Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas glances back at you calculatingly, more than likely trying to level your pain. "Does it still hurt?"

"Only when rude werewolves throw me against the wall without permission." You huff.

He rolls his eyes, "So rude werewolves are allowed to throw you against the wall, if they ask first."

You answer is immediate and resolute. "Hell yes." Farkas presses a kiss to your clavicle in agreement, understanding what his brother is having difficulty grasping. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Vilkas is still struggling to comprehend flirting when Aela strides back in, shoving him to the side so she can get a proper look at the injury. He settles to the side his brother hasn't already claimed, pressed a little too close for it to be accidental. Safe to say you don't really mind.

Kodlak and Skjor join quickly thereafter, the Harbinger taking one of the chairs while Skjor stands near Aela, his eyes narrowed. He doesn't look particularly angry with you, and given the way his nostrils flare, you can only assume he's already made his conclusions about what happened.

It's... Sweet, in a strange way, how much they want to protect you. Most in Skyrim (rightfully) assume the Dovahkiin can take care of themself. That doesn't mean you always want to. It's nice to have someone(s) there for you to fall back on. Comforting.

You're not quite sure about your relationship with any of the Circle (sans Kodlak, who views you as his progeny), truthfully, but cuddling seems to be okay. Kisses when you've all had to much alcohol are okay. Good morning and 'thank god we survived that fight' kisses are even normal outside the Circle. The end of hunts/bandit attacks while on the road are punctuated by laughter and "can I kiss you?"s.

You're not 'officially' in the Circle though, with no beast blood but your own to speak of, but they seem to think of you as such. They just followed Kodlak's lead, although you still aren't sure why he took such a shining to you.

Aela has asked you about the wolf thing only once, between feather light kisses as you laid down after a celebration, and you explained that while you might eventually, right now the Dragon blood is more than enough.

The lines between friendship and romance and pack blur together in a strange mix of emotions, but you don't have any complaints aside from that they should kiss you more often. Skjor and Aela have a thing going, you know, but the same could be said for you and the brothers. Skjor has kissed you only once, after a hunt, while Aela takes any opportunity she's given. 

Aela tuts like a worried hen (or perhaps a hawk) as she inspects the wound, slathering some kind of thick salve on it. The rough treatment makes you bite down on your lip, and Vilkas growls when you whimper, but Aela pays neither of you any mind. "Didn't have a potion but this'll do." She says.

"Thank you." Your voice is shaky with tears you refuse to allow, and both twins press against you comfortingly.

Aela simply lays a hand on your thigh and smiles. "So, mind telling us what this is about?"

"Vilkas is angry I let another werewolf dress my wound after a dragon attack. I killed the dragon, of course."

"You let Arnbjorn dress your wound." Vilkas snaps. The harsh tone conflicts beautifully with the hand on your leg, fingers entwining with Aela's as though that doubles the reassurence of the gesture.

Kodlak's eyes go wide while Skjor looks horrified. "Arnbjorn is still alive?"

"In Falkreath. I'm sorta friends with his wife, and the dragon attack got his attention. I think they're, you know... Apart of the Dark Brotherhood." You plot out your words before you say them, purposefully making like you're shy under all the attention rather than deceiving them. It makes you feel gross to lie to them, but if its to protect them from the Family, you can work through it.

Thankfully, they all seem to take the bait, Skjor and Aela both snarling at the very idea someone like Armbjorn had dressed your wounds while the brothers squashed you between them, heavy arms draped across your much smaller frame. Damn Nords are too big.

Kodlak is the only one to remain calm, really, although he looks perturbed by this information. "How did you know Arnbjorn is a wolf?"

You blink tiredly. "Smell. And the nicknames."

"Nicknames?" Farkas grumbles.

"He doesn't call me by my name or Dragonborn or whatever. He calls me, like, food names. Tidbit, ham hock, morsel. It's sorta creepy to be honest." You shrug it off.

Kodlak makes a face, shaking his head as he gets to his feet. "I'll have to think this over. Starting a feud with the Dark Brotherhood is suicide, but Arnbjorn is..."

"I'll talk to you after I've rested." You chirp. "I'm sure there's information I'm forgetting."

He departs with a nod, and while Skjor looks like he wants to join him, one glance at your arm has him dragging the newly vacated seat towards the bed. You're not sure if its Vilkas or Aela who tightens their grip on your thigh, but it makes you glance between the two of them curiously.

"Well you are quite the morsel," Aela finally says, her lips tilting into a half hearted smile. There's still anger behind her eyes, and for a moment you're tempted to kiss until it disappears completely, but its probably not the time. You're content with cuddling.

"You flatter me so." You laugh, bringing your uninjured hand up to your chest as if you're flustered.

Her smile is lopsided now and it makes your chest feel fluttery. "Learn to take a compliment, new blood." She says, the words lacking any bite.

You simply role your eyes in return, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Thank you for that borderline lascivious compliment."

Vilkas barks a laugh while Skjor and Farkas just appear interested in how this'll play out. This is new territory for everyone, being so obvious.

Aela leans closer, until your noses are nearly pressed together. "I'll show you lascivious." She growls.

"Is that a promise? Because I'm injured at the moment." You manage, your voice much smoother than you expected.

She blinks, eyes sliding down to your arm as if she completely forgot. "I suppose you should rest." She agrees grumpily. "But I'm staying here." The glare she sends the twins could melt Winterhold.

"This is my bed," Farkas protests.

"You could just like, drag another bed over here. Make a big ol cuddle puddle." You hum, already nudging Vilkas so you can lie down. The warm furs are calling your name.

"That's... A solid plan, actually." Vilkas says. He sounds surprised that you were the one to come up with such a fantastic idea, but you don't really mind. He's used to being the quickest one in the room, both in smarts and in temper.

Aela lunges for you while the boys move to do as you suggested, one arm slipping under your head like a pillow and the other grasping your waist. "I'm not letting you go until you're healed, runt." She says.

You mumble some kind of affirmative, giving into both your dragon side and the sleepiness pulling at your eyes. Something about snuggling your shield sister fills you with a sense of contentedness.

You're already asleep by the time the others get back, but you wake up in a heavy tangle of limbs. The sound of laughter is what wakes you up, followed by the others shushing whoever it was.

You smile, _nice. Very nice._  

**Author's Note:**

> Does this count as pre poly? ? I'd like to think they all talk about it as a group the next day and agree that it could work. 
> 
> Plus this way, the Dragonborn would have a long while before becoming a werewolf if they ever do (which is good for Skjor at least). 
> 
> This was really fun to write.


End file.
